your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
The kiss to her temple earns a soft, honeyed hum, contentment curling through her chest like steam rising from warm tea. For all of their jokes and how they spin gold out of chaos, there’s a quiet steadiness in the way Flora leans into Kaisel’s side, like she could soak up his affection and return it tenfold with the shield of her body his to use against the drama of family dinners.
Only when he parts to wash his hands does she finally lift her weight from him, and even then, the separation is softened by the small, snowy blur that rises from the countertop. Spice flutters to Kai’s shoulder, coiling delicately around the curve of his neck, chirping like a sous-chef with far too much enthusiasm and no grasp of personal space. She snorfles approvingly at every movement of his hands, clearly judging him—and perhaps Ronin—on shrimp technique alone.
Flora, for her part, is already drifting around the kitchen like a barefoot stormcloud full of mischief. She dips a finger into the seasoning bowl Ronin is mixing, makes a theatrical show of testing it, and then plucks a bit of bell pepper from the prepped vegetables with all the grace of a girl who owns not only the house but everyone in it.
But it’s the furtive flick of Kai’s parchment that redirects her, her gaze catching the subtle movement the way a magpie spies something glittering. Her brow arches, not even pretending she won’t investigate; this is her kitchen, her family, her man. She plucks her own parchment from the pocket of her jeans and steps lightly beside him, eyes skimming the message he’s left as her curls sway forward in curiosity. Her breath catches in her throat; not sharply, but suddenly, like she wasn’t quite braced for the sweetness of it. Colour rises instantly in her cheeks, blooming like sunrise over the ocean, and when her eyes lift to meet his, the smile that unfurls on her lips is nothing short of radiant. Golden and lovestruck and shining with something that sparkles between them like champagne bubbles rising too fast.
She mouths I love you, the words slow and soft, her fingers brushing her curls back before she winks, shameless, warm, glittering.
But before she can dissolve entirely into heart-eyes and kitchen-floor fantasies, a familiar sound filters in from the other room. The travelling tongue rolls through the air like a song only half-heard, its cadence unmistakable, and her eyes roll to the ceiling with theatrical frustration. "Ronin," she murmurs, teeth catching her lower lip as she cranes her neck toward the Knight, "do you know what they’re saying in there?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Kaisel, expression both amused and exasperated as she explains. "Remi was an ass to Mateo after I died," she says cheerfully, as if they’re discussing the weather. "This is the first time they’ve really spoken since." She squints toward the doorway again, nose wrinkling. "But I can't tell if he's apologizing or if they're about to start arguing again."
Only when he parts to wash his hands does she finally lift her weight from him, and even then, the separation is softened by the small, snowy blur that rises from the countertop. Spice flutters to Kai’s shoulder, coiling delicately around the curve of his neck, chirping like a sous-chef with far too much enthusiasm and no grasp of personal space. She snorfles approvingly at every movement of his hands, clearly judging him—and perhaps Ronin—on shrimp technique alone.
Flora, for her part, is already drifting around the kitchen like a barefoot stormcloud full of mischief. She dips a finger into the seasoning bowl Ronin is mixing, makes a theatrical show of testing it, and then plucks a bit of bell pepper from the prepped vegetables with all the grace of a girl who owns not only the house but everyone in it.
But it’s the furtive flick of Kai’s parchment that redirects her, her gaze catching the subtle movement the way a magpie spies something glittering. Her brow arches, not even pretending she won’t investigate; this is her kitchen, her family, her man. She plucks her own parchment from the pocket of her jeans and steps lightly beside him, eyes skimming the message he’s left as her curls sway forward in curiosity. Her breath catches in her throat; not sharply, but suddenly, like she wasn’t quite braced for the sweetness of it. Colour rises instantly in her cheeks, blooming like sunrise over the ocean, and when her eyes lift to meet his, the smile that unfurls on her lips is nothing short of radiant. Golden and lovestruck and shining with something that sparkles between them like champagne bubbles rising too fast.
She mouths I love you, the words slow and soft, her fingers brushing her curls back before she winks, shameless, warm, glittering.
But before she can dissolve entirely into heart-eyes and kitchen-floor fantasies, a familiar sound filters in from the other room. The travelling tongue rolls through the air like a song only half-heard, its cadence unmistakable, and her eyes roll to the ceiling with theatrical frustration. "Ronin," she murmurs, teeth catching her lower lip as she cranes her neck toward the Knight, "do you know what they’re saying in there?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turns to Kaisel, expression both amused and exasperated as she explains. "Remi was an ass to Mateo after I died," she says cheerfully, as if they’re discussing the weather. "This is the first time they’ve really spoken since." She squints toward the doorway again, nose wrinkling. "But I can't tell if he's apologizing or if they're about to start arguing again."
